Encounters and Memories
by Aeria
Summary: Klaine: A collection of oneshot ficlets. Some smutty, some fluffy, some with an edge of angst. Mostly just more in the vein of everything else I've written!  PG-M ratings
1. Chapter 1

Title: Educated Drinking  
>Rating: R<br>Spoilers: Character spoilers for 'Big Brother'

A/N: So this is now the place I will post all my little drabbles. So 500-1500 words, mostly prompted off one word prompts on tumblr (doonarose). This one was prompted off 'pinot noir'.

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><p>"Kurt tells me you're not so great with the liquor." Cooper's sweeping into the kitchen and the clink of bottles being set down on the bench is terrifying. "So, I'm here to educate you!"<p>

Blaine shoots Kurt a quick glare: he'd really, really hates that Kurt and his big brother have settled so quickly into an easy rapport and good humour and a mortifying alliance to make him squirm. Except he doesn't hate it at all.

"What did he tell you?" Blaine asks, getting to his feet and moving to stare at the bottles and glasses being assembled on the kitchen counter. Cooper's rummaging, pulling out bottle after bottle of spirits, juices, a lemon, a lime from cupboards, the fridge, the cabinet Blaine isn't allowed anywhere near.

"Nothing about how you jumped him in the car that one time after dancing with another boy all night. Or how you made out with Rachel. Or how you fell asleep in his lap and drooled all over his best pants. None of that stuff."

Blaine glares at Kurt but Kurt doesn't even look sorry, he's just cocking his head and watching Cooper start to flip glasses over and untwist lids.

"So, boys, wine."

They _start_ with wine. Careful sips and then mouthfuls out of a shared glass, Cooper acting convincingly like he knows what he's doing as he swirls and sniffs. There are whites and reds and sparkling and as they work their way from light to dark Blaine starts enjoying himself. He's laughing and telling a story with bright shining eyes when he sends a glass of pinot noir skittering, the glass shattering and the wine in it spilling straight down Cooper's white shirt.

"Told you he turns into a disaster," Kurt says knowingly.

They move on to mixed drinks. Cooper again showing off, tipping things haphazardly and mixing or leaving in layers. Throwing around mint leaves and lime slices and salt or sugar rims and dazzling Kurt a little. Again they all share. And Cooper's drinking more than either and has them both in stitches with his unending anecdotes.

_That time he streaked straight across the Columbia quad._

_That time he accidentally set up a date with two girls for the same night, at the same restaurant but two hours apart and, oh how the waiters judged him when he put the first in a cab and then settled to greet the next. _

_The camping trip with Blaine when Blaine had to rescue Cooper from an enormous spider. _

_That time when Blaine wasn't quick enough answering his door and Cooper walked in and almost fell over trying to understand the angles of the two men on the computer screen—_

"Alright, Cooper, enough!"

They make it to shots but that's when it gets really dangerous. Because you can't share a shot and you can't sip at it and savour it and then slide it across the table towards Cooper. Kurt's tilting and swaying on his bar stool and his cheeks are bright red and he can't seem to stop giggling.

Cooper's hilarious and Blaine is adorable.

Blaine's bent at the waist, ass far too obvious in the air. He can't manage to stay on a chair so he's standing but he insists on keeping his eyes at the level of the glasses so he can watch. And Kurt isn't about to complain about the lines of muscle he can see stretching out. He doesn't realize it but his hand is actually rubbing little circles into Blaine's back having slipped under the cotton of his shirt.

Cooper has noticed and it's making his lips quirk upwards.

Shots.

They've tried tequila, lime and salt and gagging on the rotten taste. They've tried something Cooper can't name because he keeps laughing and it was sweet but, Kurt thinks, not so strong. (Tomorrow he'll google it and be the one to sombrely reveal to Blaine that his big brother gave them something called a cock-sucking cowboy to drink.)

"Last one," Cooper tells them, slurring a little. "It's been a good night. I'd hate for tomorrow morning to ruin it."

Kurt nods and Blaine blurts out: "It's not my fault alcohol makes me horny."

Cooper and Kurt burst out laughing and Blaine's head falls onto his hands on the table. "It's your fault," he mumbles, turning his face to glare at Kurt.

"Definitely the last one," Cooper tells them and then starts to pour, vodka splashing onto the bench.

"It's your fault because I love you," Blaine blurts some more and Kurt dragging him up and over, almost toppling off the chair but righting himself with both hands holding onto the front of Blaine's shirt and pulling him in. He kisses him hard and it all tastes like alcohol and it's messy and it's mostly to shut him up but his head swims and he feels his body tighten and heat up so fast.

Alcohol makes him horny too, he realizes with a blush.

He pushes Blaine back and gives him a dopey grin and Blaine just stage whispers, scandalized, "My brother saw that," and steadies himself against the table.

Cooper chuckles again, eyes just a little wide, and warns them about the vodka. Then they clink glasses and swallow them down. Kurt hisses and Blaine coughs and Cooper keeps laughing. Then they're all on their feet, unsteady but grinning and saying good night and Kurt's arm is around Blaine's waist, leading him without really thinking towards the stairs.

"I'm gonna stay down here for a while," Cooper yells after them, making them stop and turn. "For like, an hour, at least. I'll watch something really loud on TV."

It doesn't click for them what he's getting at until the morning. Doesn't stop them from having ridiculously giggly, messy drunk sex though.


	2. Humming

Title: Humming

Rating: PG

Genre: fluffy angst

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><p>"What is it you're humming?" Kurt's voice sounds light and playful and as Blaine thinks back over the last few seconds he realizes he was.<p>

"Oh."

He blushes.

"Nothing."

Kurt just wanted an excuse to talk to him instead of staring at his French homework but now he's interested. He stares and waits and then settles back into his essay knowing Blaine will start again. He's been humming absent-mindedly during their study sessions for weeks.

Sure enough ten minutes later he's humming as he flicks through a book and stares hard at the maths.

"Blaine," Kurt says, turning properly to face him. "Humming."

Another blush creeps over his cheeks and his eyes flicker to the ground. "Sorry, I didn't…" he makes a motion with his hand in the air and his brow creases. "You want to know _what_ I'm humming," he asks rhetorically at Kurt's arched eyebrow.

Kurt nods.

Blaine sighs and reaches towards the back of the desk, sliding out a notebook and flipping through the pages. Kurt's own cheeks heat up when he recognises the loose sheet of paper that falls out.

"That's…"

"I started putting it to music," Blaine says. His fingers brush over the sheet of paper marked with Kurt's long looping handwriting and the evidence of having been picked up and turned over a hundred times. Under it, the notebook is riddled with music and scrawled words, scribbles and lines and torn away pages.

It's the letter Kurt wrote him for Valentine's Day. Only a few months ago but some days it feels like a lifetime. It's the letter he wrote when he missed Blaine the most and when his body ached with knowing it was going to get worse when he left for New York. The letter was full of promises and admissions that he thought he might never be brave enough to say out loud because the magnitude of it was enormous.

But Blaine had read it in silence, sitting beside Kurt on the edge of his bed after a night of ridiculous happiness at the Sugar Shack and he'd cried. Which made Kurt cry. And then Blaine had folded it in half and slid it onto his bedside table and said, simply, "Me too."

Now, Blaine mumbles, "I hope that's okay," clearly waiting for a reaction to gauge.

"On the piano?" Kurt asks, his voice just a little bit broken and he can't quite put his finger on why. "Can I hear it?"

Blaine smiles and stares down at his notes. "Not yet. It's not finished." His hand reaches out and their fingers entwine. "I've never written music before," Blaine explains. He sighs. "I'm going to sing it to you over the phone the first night you're in New York."

Kurt swallows the tightness in his throat and squeezes Blaine's hand. "Okay," he whispers. "But keep humming until then."


	3. Humming Redux

Title: Humming (Redux)

Rating: NC-17

Summary: I wrote the sweet clean version of the 'humming' and now this is very much the opposite.

Words: 600

A/N: So many oneshots lately! Hope you are all enjoying them and thank you so much for all the lovely reviews!

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><p>"Blaine!"<p>

Kurt squeaks and slaps a hand over his mouth. There is no way on earth Blaine's mouth felt _this_ good _last _time. He would remember. He would remember and they would never ever, ever leave the bedroom.

"Blaine. Oh my god, _Blaine_, stop! _Wait!_"

Blaine doesn't stop, just shifts on his knees, trying to get more comfortable and keeps bobbing his head up and down on Kurt's cock.

Kurt's dad will be home in minutes, _minutes_, and they were meant to be kissing good night at the front door, not making out, not grabbing at each other until they were hard and rutting and then Blaine was sliding down to the floor, pushing Kurt's hips back against the wood and going to town on his cock.

"Blaine, my _dad!_"

Blaine just licks a particularly perfect circle around the head and then sinks back down and takes as much of Kurt's length as he can. Kurt buries his hands in Blaine's hair but doesn't pull him off, he means to, but he can't.

"Blaine are you even listening to me?"

Blaine hums in affirmation around his cock and both Kurt's knees go out from under him, Blaine hands suddenly pushing into his hips hard enough to bruise just to keep him upright.

"Oh _god…_" Kurt whimpers.

Looking up at him through his eyelashes, eyes wet, lips stretched obscenely and pulling back, Blaine hums, high-pitched, surprised, testing.

Kurt's thighs tremble and his hips buck forward and Blaine would smile but his mouth is busy. He hums again and again, moving up the scale and then pressing his tongue to the underside and growling into a whine, letting the vibrations of sound reverberate up his throat and through the hard-soft flesh pressing into the heat of his mouth.

"Holy fuck, Blaine, don't stop."

Bobbing his head and sucking hard, moaning and humming and making as much noise as he can because it's undoing Kurt. His head is snapped back into the door, neck stretched as he pants and gasps. The fingers in Blaine's hair are pulling him closer, guiding him in and tightening, tightening as his whole body shudders with each resonated standing wave pushed into him.

"Fuck, Blaine, _fuck_. Gonna—" he keens and his back bows as he writhes against the wood and Blaine pulls back far enough to just keep his lips tight around the head and suck as Kurt comes across his tongue. He swallows it down, still holding Kurt up with his hands as his hips rock back and forth until they don't.

Then Kurt slumps back, boneless, and Blaine's humming around the tip of his cock again and making him twitch and then he's pulling off and licking his lips and pinching at the bone of Kurt's hip until Kurt finds his feet and lets go of Blaine's hair.

"Shit," Kurt breathes out, grinning like an idiot.

"Guess this is how I'm going to practice scales from now on."

Kurt swipes at him but Blaine just rocks back onto his heels and propels himself up to stand and press a kiss to Kurt's lips. "Go on, you'll love it," Blaine teases, pulling Kurt's jeans back up his legs with his underwear and tucking him back in.

And Kurt can't stop himself grinning broadly and kissing again, licking dirtily into Blaine's mouth and tasting. He tilts his head just a little in agreement. "Not gonna help me keep a straight face in Glee though."


	4. Tattoo

Title: Tattoo

Rating: soft R

Summary: With Kurt leaving for New York, Blaine wants something to remember him by. Except Kurt thinks it might be for the wrong reasons.

Words: 900

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><p>It's one of their first big fights. And it still isn't <em>that<em> big. Mostly it's because it comes on the back of three weeks of fighting with everyone else. Kurt is going to New York and Blaine is staying in Ohio and instead of everyone being supportive everyone is start to arch eyebrows and wonder how long they'll last apart.

Blaine's father, in particular, lacks subtlety. This is the end of experimenting and childhood silliness. Time for Blaine to grow up, become a real man, leave all of this behind. It's the perfect opportunity for them to make a clean break.

And they stand strong together and tell everyone they'll be fine but doubt creeps in and they can't really _know_ they'll be fine. So the foundations start to erode as the days creep by, Kurt busy and Blaine avoiding him because he can't stand it and he's just so angry.

But it hurts Kurt until Blaine explains it and then Blaine's still angry but these are their last few days and one night, naked and tangled together across Kurt's bed in the afterglow, Blaine rolls himself onto his elbows and tells Kurt his plan.

And Kurt hates it. Kurt is meant to fall in love with the idea, with the romanticism of it and the promise but it just unlocks floodgates of doubt.

Blaine wants Kurt's name across his skin in dark, forever-there letters. Big and bold and declaring. He's been thinking a shoulder, maybe even an arm.

"Why not across your forehead?" Kurt snaps.

And this isn't Blaine. And how do they _know_ they're forever. And really this is just one more defiant act to throw in Blaine's father's face.

Kurt forbids him.

And Blaine leaves.

They manage to make up the day before Kurt flies out.

Blaine admits it was a crazy idea and Kurt apologizes for everything he yelled and they sit in the backyard and hold hands.

"We are forever, though," Blaine tells him, sounding fierce even as he whispers it like it's a secret.

Kurt just nods and starts crying.

"And tattoos aren't just for bad boys," Blaine says. And then he teases and runs through all the options that _would _suit him. Rainbows and a loveheart and the Warblers crest or maybe just Katy Perry's face.

And Kurt giggles until he stops crying and then lies across Blaine in the grass until his dad comes and gets them for dinner.

Blaine visits him twice in New York and Kurt sees him the three times he manages to come home. It's weird, the drip of seconds when they see each other for the first time, the waiting to see if anything has changed or if anything needs to be admitted to.

Kurt kisses another boy once at a party.

Blaine spends an entire Saturday thinking he's going to call Kurt and break up with him.

But in the end nothing changes and every meeting is spent working that out again.

Blaine moves to New York. He's in college dorms on the opposite side of town to Kurt and they don't get time to be alone together until they're both back in the swing of semester and Blaine's family has departed New York and gone back to Lima.

Then they get a weekend. And Cooper's apartment. The one with a view of Central Park and a full kitchen and so much space and time. They fall back into each other and take everything on offer.

And it's only on the Saturday morning, Blaine splayed, the sunlight and sweat coloring his skin tanned and shining, that Kurt finds it.

It's a tiny cursive _K_., the size of a thumbnail and sitting so low on his abdomen that it's written just where the dense hair at the base of Blaine's cock starts. Just to the side of the prominent vein running down his stomach. Just above the crease of his thigh.

Kurt gasps, mouth hovering and his thumb pressing into it.

And Blaine gasps and his hips jolt because he's pressed his own fingers to the letter so many times himself. "Don't get mad."

Seconds stretch and Blaine doesn't breathe.

"You got it," Kurt says dumbly, moving his thumb and trying to identify the font.

"Yeah, but not like I was going to. This is just for me…for us."

Kurt' s breath rattles out and Blaine's skin tightens and goosepimples. Kurt sounds breathless: "When?"

Blaine swallows and stretches his own fingers down to brush over the mark and tangle with Kurt's. "The day after you left."

Kurt's eyes go wide and he clicks his tongue, his mind racing through the handful of sexual encounters they've achieved in a year. How he managed to miss this. But in the shadows and the heat and the desperate need, he knows it would look like nothing.

Sounding unsure, Blaine asks, "Do you hate it?"

Kurt shakes his head and nuzzles at their interlaced fingers, then tilts his face and presses his lips to the _K._

Blaine tries to explain: "I just needed a reminder."

"Of me?"

"That I knew it would all be okay." Blaine arches as Kurt kisses him there again. "Because…you."

"Forever," Kurt whispers.

"We made it."


	5. Salivate

They're a little bit older and a whole lot bolder and incredibly drunk when Kurt brings it up. Though it has been on his mind for a while. Luckily they're also entirely alone, laid out, still fully clothed, across the bed.

"You undoing your pants provokes a very Pavlovian response in me, you know?"

Blaine tries to convince his limbs to work, to get him up to sitting so he can look at Kurt but he fails and keeps staring at the ceiling. So he grunts and just pulls the zip of his pants down, the two buttons already popped and his belly feeling enormous after far too decadent a dinner.

"And I mean in a very historically accurate way." Kurt pokes him in the side. "Do your pants back up."

Blaine laughs. Kurt giggles.

"Wasn't Pavlov the dog that got hungry when someone rang a bell?"

Turning his head to stare, Kurt rolls his eyes. "Not exactly."

The conversation stalls and Blaine starts absent-mindedly rubbing his belly, wondering if he's overdone it.

"No seriously though." Kurt reaches out and grabs at Blaine's hand and Blaine's yelping because Kurt's sliding two of Blaine's fingers into his mouth and licking around them expertly with his very wet, very hot, tongue. He slides them back out again with an obscene pop. "See?"

Blaine's back just twists against the mattress as he fights off the instant jolt of lust because he's tired and too full for sex.

"See?" Kurt tries again.

"What'd you do that for?" Blaine pouts, his now slightly slick hand sliding down into his undone pants and pawing at his hardening cock.

"You undo your pants and my mouth gets all wet." Kurt sounds a bit in awe of the discovery.

"I didn't know your mouth was usually dry." Blaine continues to press the heel of his hand into his crotch.

"It's Pavlovian. Because we have so much sex."

Then Kurt's batting Blaine's hand away from his crotch and sitting up cross-legged and smoothing Blaine's cock back down against his thigh. Then, much to Blaine's bemusement, Kurt's pulling the zipper back up and buttoning his jeans.

"Undo them again," Kurt demands.

Blaine groans because tight denim isn't really what he's after right now. So he complies, struggling with fumbling fingers to get the buttons undone and then carefully pulling the metal zipper down. It sounds loud in the room and when he looks up at Kurt he snorts because he _knows_, can see, that Kurt is sliding his tongue around the inside of his cheeks and over the roof of his mouth and trying to _deduce_.

Kurt opens his mouth with a wet smack of his lips. "How weird."

"No, you're weird," Blaine tells him, starting to shimmy out of his pants. "And now you've got me all turned on and you're going to have to do something about it."

Kurt waggles his eyebrows. Maybe that was part of the plan. But he can't help but tease: "Want me to tell you all about Finn's latest big break up? Or what I _really_ saw that time I walked into Rachel's bedroom unannounced."

Blaine groans at him and bucks his hips up, shucking his underwear down. "Don't be so mean."

Kurt straddles his waist backwards, still fully clothed but heavy and warm and Blaine's slapping a hand against his ass and telling him to turn around.

"Shhh," Kurt hums, his breath hot and close to Blaine's cock. "I wanna see if you have any Pavlovian responses."


	6. Poptart

Prompt: Poptarts  
>Rating: PG-13<p>

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><p>When they're together in High School their dream New York apartment has a magnificent view and an open plan lounge and when they imagine their lives they're in robes drinking coffee and watching sunsets and making important phone calls to jobs that they love.<p>

When Blaine moves up to New York to begin at Columbia they have neither the capital nor the contacts to get any apartment at all. But they still spend hours pouring over real estate websites squished side by side on Blaine's dorm bed. (Not Kurt's, somehow he's ended up with the only uptight fuckwit at NYADA as a room mate.)

Blaine starts making plans to move into the same dorms in his second year, to score a tiny dorm room together and push the two singles together and live happily ever after. And then Kurt breaks the news that NYADA's not working out for him.

So they don't get an apartment together until 2015 and it's not in New York, it's in London. And it's tiny. Unbelievably tiny. The most open-plan bit of it is the wa the entrance hall opens onto the three person sofa and the meter of space between that and the television. Blaine is starting his Masters and the hours are insane and Kurt has got a job basically being the bitch to the costume designer working on the world premiere of "Tangled: A Disney Musical" on the West End. And they never see each other.

There's one Sunday where they both seem to have time off and a morning to waste and Kurt spends his lunch break on Saturday at Marks & Spencer finding half-decent fresh fruit and the premium ham and then buying two fluffy robes on a whim. And then he races to his favourite bakery and pays an exorbitant price for a loaf of bread.

And on Sunday their alarm goes off at 6am because even though they're exhausted they can't waste their time together and god knows Blaine needs to get to the library at some point today. They have lazy, morning sex and suddenly it's 8am and someone needs to strip the bed because that was decadent and messy and perfect.

When Blaine moves to find his boxers on the floor Kurt pulls the navy blue woollen robe and throws it to him with a grin. "Just wear this."

Then while Blaine changes the sheets, gingerly scrunching the material into a bag for the Laundromat, Kurt slips on his own red fluffy robe and wanders to the kitchenette. He shifts the big bottle of apple juice out of the way and fishes out the supplies from the back of the fridge.

By the time Blaine finds him he has a platter of fruit and ham and is sucking a grape into his mouth. It's decadent, just like they imagined their lives would be and Blaine says so but Kurt just smiles.

The next morning Kurt's up and gone before Blaine wakes up, something he is sadly getting used to on a Monday. He stretches though, his body just a little tighter from the day before's activities (they returned to bed after breakfast and Blaine didn't make it into the library until two) and he grins.

It was a nice escape but when he wanders, clad only in his boxers, into the kitchen, it's simply to rummage in the usual space for a poptart for the toaster.

Kurt doesn't eat breakfast, he gets coffee on the way, and the only reason Blaine has anything is because Kurt insisted on finding a shop that sold them and keeps their supplies stocked up well. Breakfast, they've both found, is a bit of an extravagance. One they can live without, surprisingly, so long as they have each other.


	7. Bite  M rating

"Oh god—" Blaine can't think straight, he really can't, and he has no idea how anyone could expect him to. "Kurt, fuck, _Kurt, _you gotta move…stop…You gotta _go_." Oh god, _shut up!_ What is he even saying?

Kurt pulls back, balancing on all fours and Blaine's whole body rises up to follow the heavy press of him and the heat of his mouth. "Soon," he mumbles, eyes bright blue and lips curled up in a grin.

Then he slides down a little and the rough drag of cotton and denim against Blaine's over-sensitive, completely naked skin edges on painful but Kurt's mouth sucking over a nipple, teeth scratching down his ribs and then sucking again at the dip at the bottom makes Blaine moan and arch and feel nothing but good.

Blaine's hands twist in Kurt's hair for a moment before Kurt's teeth nip harshly at the skin beside Blaine's belly button and he pauses to warn, "Not my hair," and Blaine let's go, settles for grabbing at the sheets and twisting them as his dick rubs against the length of Kurt's throat.

"New York," Blaine mumbles out, writhing and whining and wondering if he can come again—he's lost count of how many times he's come in the last twenty four hours. "You'll miss your flight!" _God, please miss your flight. Miss your flight and never leave this bed._

Kurt just sucks harder, teeth working the skin over Blaine's hip and tongue flicking back and forth to sooth while Blaine just whines higher in his throat and wishes Kurt would stop playing games and blow him because Kurt really needs to leave but if he does Blaine will surely die.

"Kurt, please!" Blaine's begging and he knows that makes Kurt preen and boosts his ego a little too much but he's not going to see him again until Christmas and Kurt is fully clothed and Blaine is naked and lying in god knows how many wet spots and Kurt is marking him up. _Kurt is marking him up. _

"Oh my god, _fuck, _Kurt, _please!" _

Blaine feels the rake of nails down his sides, biting at his skin, behind, between the sheets and his ass and clawing at the muscle and it'd hurt if he wasn't high on endorphins and the idea that Kurt is laying claim in a way he's never done before.

God Blaine's happy he pulled him back into bed one last time.

Kurt's hands move down behind Blaine's thighs, opening him up, spreading him wide and Blaine's twisting in the bed, willing Kurt to put his mouth back on him anywhere because when he looks down his sweat-slick body Kurt's just staring at the scatter of bitten-red bruises. "_Kurt…." _Blaine tries again. "_Please…"_

Kurt's phone starts to thrill and it's the familiar, terrible melody of Kurt's alarm and Blaine knows that it's the very last call for Kurt to get in his car and race back to his dad's house and then race straight to the airport and the small frown crossing Kurt's lips tells Blaine that Kurt knows it too.

Fingers flexing against the muscles of Blaine's ass, Kurt mutters, "One last one to remember me by," and smiles devilishly.

His lips fall to the crease of Blaine's thigh, to the softest, most sensitive skin Blaine thinks he has, and brushes there softly, making Blaine jolt. He kisses quickly to the inside of Blaine's thigh, just inches from his dick, his ass, everywhere his body is going to miss Kurt the most and how obscene is that thought? How incredibly true?

Kurt's lips press hard and his teeth and tongue work to hold as much tender flesh in his mouth as he can as he sucks viciously and bites down and manages to look up Blaine's body while he's doing it and convey everything simply with slightly-widened eyes and almost-perfect hair and his lips too-red against Blaine's white skin, just beyond the bob of his achingly hard cock, dribbles of precome running down the side.

Kurt pulls back and smirks, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth and pushing his hair back up into pristine condition. When he scoots back off the bed and stands up it takes only a second to tuck his shirt back in and look the epitome of put-togetherness. _God he was wearing his boots the whole time. _

On the bed, Blaine whines and realizes he's still holding his body taut and stretched and collapses a little.

He can't see the mark on his thigh but Kurt can and he brushes his thumb over it on his way to kiss Blaine chastely on the cheek. He swipes the alarm on his phone off and smiles sweetly. "I'll see you for Christmas," he says, voice only the slightest bit rough, and Blaine just stares, mouth agape and knuckles white where he's still holding onto the sheets.

"Yeah," Blaine says, voice about two octaves too high. He clears his throat. "Yeah, Christmas, I'll just…" Kurt is at the door, looking back happily, gaze raking over Blaine's body.

_He's just going to leave me like this._

"I'll just wait here, shall I?" Blaine calls petulantly, already reaching down and fisting his cock, wincing because he has really, truly, had too much sex at this point.

Kurt laughs, voice high and beautiful. "We both know you are completely capable of taking care of yourself," he teases. And, as though the message weren't obvious enough he adds, "I'll skype you as soon as I get to the apartment and you're suitably alone."

Blaine groans and the bedroom door clicks closed behind Kurt.


	8. Chapter 8

chandlerbings answered: slow dancing in the rain?

Blaine's voice is slow and warm like hot honey when he mumbles into Kurt's neck, "I'm so sorry, Kurt." He doesn't sound sorry at all.

Kurt just sighs and tightens his arm around Blaine's back and squeezes his hand in his own. They've got all of a square foot to dance in, the little back room over-crowded and stuffy, but they're doing their best. Outside there's another crack of lightning and the wind howls, stripping the leaves from the trees that were green and gorgeous yesterday.

"It really wasn't meant to rain," Kurt huffs as one of his guests elbows him in the back and quickly mutters an apology and tries to press closer to the rest of the crowd. "Our kids are never going to believe we got married in the middle of summer when they see the photo album," he mutters, feeling Blaine's lips skim his temple, curling up.

No matter what, Blaine can't shake the ridiculously happy twist in his stomach. The one that replaced the butterflies about six hours ago.

Kurt groans and there's a breathed out, "love you," their feet still shuffling on the floor and the sweat starting to drip down the smalls of their backs. "I just wanted one slow dance on the grass."

There's more lightning, or maybe it's the flash of a camera, Tina working overtime to try to get even half-decent photos in the half-light and the crowded conditions.

Then Kurt's hand untangles from Blaine's and slides around him, pulling him in even tighter and ignoring the sudden smash of glasses somewhere off towards the kitchen. "Wanna get out of here?" Kurt whispers, mouth close enough to Blaine's ear to tickle.

Even with the storm and the rain and the sudden desperate move of everything indoors. Even with the momentary loss of the rings and the slightly rain-damp wedding cake. They still have a honeymoon suite just across the river waiting for them. Blaine resists the urge to grab Kurt by the hand and bolt. At the very least they need to find their parents and say good-bye.

More lightning and Blaine can feel his husband—_his husband—_rolling his eyes at the weather. Blaine just chuckles. "Come here."

He leads Kurt through the crowd, people moving out of their way, hands slapping them on the back and faces smiling at them. When he gets to the double glass doors he doesn't hesitate, just throws both open and lets the wind and the rain howl inside.

"Come dance with your husband on the grass," Blaine says and Kurt laughs beside him, obviously thinks he's crazy.

But he's dragged out, down the stairs, into the rain. Pouring, reckless rain that comes in at strange angles and has them both soaked through in moments. The grass turns to mud beneath their once-shiny shoes as they slip and slide past the abandoned tables into the centre clearing.

Blaine pulls back and Kurt watches him be exactly the dork he married. Blaine bows and smiles and pushes his hair back out of eyes. "Mr Anderson-Hummel, would you do me the honour?"

Kurt takes his hand and somewhere inside someone has turned the music up to full blast and it's warring with the sounds of the storm for dominance. They come together once more, cheek to cheek, hips to hips, arms looped languidly over and around each other. They dance slowly, feet following each other, Kurt content to feel the heat against him as the cold water flows down his back and the wind tries to rip off his jacket. But Blaine's got him, twirling him once and then twice and making him laugh. Then dipping him and staring down at him, the illumination of the lightning catching him with blown-wide pupils and a grin.

Blaine pulls him back up, burying his face in the crook of Kurt's neck and sliding his hands under the jacket, fingers clenching the wet material and scratching at the skin beneath. "Happy?" Blaine wonders.

"Ecstatic," Kurt yells as it thunders. And it's true, and amazing, because there's only one person in the world, Kurt's sure, that could make a wedding like this bearable, let alone…"Perfect." He whispers, "I love you," into Blaine temple and doesn't mind that Blaine doesn't hear because he's going to say it so many more times tonight, tomorrow, forever. Then he steps back and laughs at the twist of wet clothes that cover Blaine. "Let's go."

"Almost."

And Kurt doesn't know what he means until Blaine steps forward and slides his arms back around Kurt's waist, locking them behind him and kissing him for all he's worth. Everything wet and slippery from the rain but Blaine's mouth hot and so blissfully familiar as Kurt kisses him back and settles his arms over Blaine's shoulders.

They kiss like that with their eyes closed until the wind catches at Kurt's back and pushes him too close and they almost topple and, Blaine thinks, that would be too much. They break apart and realize there's whooping and clapping coming from the house and when they look they can't do much more than blush.

Kurt knocks his hip into the side of Blaine's and grins. "Well now we really should get out of here." And so, they do.


	9. Chapter 9

"When I was in my senior year of High school, just before Christmas, Blaine proposed to me." Off to his side, he knows Blaine is pulling a face. "He'll tell you he didn't. That getting engaged in high school, when the love is young, that it's dangerous—" now he won't look at Finn and Rachel, he knows they're preening, clutching, stupidly pleased with themselves to have made it a decade out of high school and still be together, married, mostly without hiccups.

Kurt looks at Blaine, at the crisp white shirt, now rolled up to his elbows, the black bowtie and the red rose and the now-jauntily-placed top hat. At the raised eyebrow and the soft smile playing at his lips. "But Blaine gave me a ring and promised me forever and he said…the things he said that day, I thought he'd never be able to promise me more, to make it more…" Kurt has to swallow, he's practiced this, rehearsed, steeled 't cry."I thought what he gave me then was everything, was the most romantic, perfect, special moment I'd ever have and we both know, somehow, we'd be together forever and so maybe it's not so terrible that I agreed to marry him before he'd even asked."

Every single person in the room knows this story now and they laugh and Kurt takes the moment to squeeze his eyes shut and take a hot breath of air and squeeze Blaine's hand behind the table and stare at him for a long hard second.

"But then Blaine gave me more. He gave me New York. And most of you. A career I love and a home." He finds his dad down the table, looking glassy eyed. "He gave my dad grandkids because somehow he managed to convince me we could do twins. That it'd be fun." He finds the twins standing off the side, not quite old enough to comprehend much more than a party.

Dark haired and blue eyed, a girl and a boy dressed up in silly party clothes and grinning at the balloons. They'll be four in a month. "Blaine gave the twins everything too."

Under his Blaine's hand spasms and Kurt knows he won't last long. Needs the solid form of Blaine against him or else he'll fall apart. He takes another breath. "And then he proposed properly. He meant it with every ounce of his being and we both knew it was time and—" another glance down and he can feel the inquisitive looks he's getting. He grins. "Oh he doesn't believe me! He thought it was terrible. But he asked me to marry him and it made perfect sense. So we did. And here we are."

That's not how the speech ends but Blaine's tugging him down, trying to pull him off balance. Kurt only manages to gasp out, "Married," before all his friends and family and applauding and whooping and Blaine's get him sprawled in his lap. And Blaine's kissing him, hands on his cheeks, fingertips in his hair, lips caressing back and forth over his.

Grinning and giggling and holding tight with both hands. Blaine drags his mouth up to Kurt's ear and repeats back: "Married. To me."


End file.
